


uninvited

by andreaphobia



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: M/M, fight then fuck, lil bit of hand worship, quintessentially 8018, violence as foreplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:00:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24659521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andreaphobia/pseuds/andreaphobia
Summary: In Yamamoto’s opinion, there’s nothing wrong with making a little social visit to a friend, whenever you happen to be in town. In fact, you might even say it’s the done thing. Proper human courtesy, or something like that.Hibari, sadly, doesn’t see things the same way.[2017-07-04]
Relationships: Hibari Kyouya/Yamamoto Takeshi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 41





	uninvited

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for Tumblr user lobotomizes, originally posted on Tumblr ("things you said through your teeth"). Cleaned up since the first time, and given a proper ending to boot.

In Yamamoto’s opinion, there’s nothing wrong with making a little social visit to a friend, whenever you happen to be in town. In fact, you might even say it’s the done thing. Proper human courtesy, or something like that.

Hibari, sadly, doesn’t see things the same way.

“You were not invited,” is all he says, when Yamamoto strolls through the door.

“Oh, I know.” Beaming, Yamamoto thrusts his chest out proudly. “Surprise!”

A split second later Shigure Kintoki is unsheathed in his hand, warding off a surprise tonfa to the face. (Hibari might not like being on the receiving end of surprises, but he sure doesn’t mind dishing them out.)

“Herbivore,” Hibari hisses through his teeth, leering across the gap where blade meets tonfa.

Yamamoto just smiles. He leans into the sword, socked feet sliding a few inches across tatami as he does so—and, because this is Hibari he's up against, he's really got to put his back into it.

“You’re never gonna get tired of that, are you?”

Hibari doesn’t answer with words, but he _does_ swing one tonfa across with pinpoint accuracy, slicing through the space which Yamamoto’s jaw occupied a second ago. Yamamoto manages to lean himself back just in time, but he still feels the whip-crack breeze of it as it passes by, too close for comfort. The momentum of this continues to carry him backward, and it takes several more steps before he regains his balance.

He falls low into a crouch, steadying himself with one hand splayed against the floor, and _then_ —because he knows exactly how much it will annoy Hibari—grins disarmingly, and reaches up to rub at the scar on the chin, where the blow might have dislocated his jaw had it connected.

“Jeez, Hibari... that could’ve really hurt!”

Hibari smiles at that... sort of. Technically, more a show of teeth. Nor is Yamamoto fooled, because the look in Hibari’s eyes is pure, cold fury. (It really gets his blood going.)

“I know.” Deceptively slow, Hibari begins to walk, closing the distance between them with each measured step. “That’s why you should hold still.”

Yamamoto laughs, almost giddily, as he dodges one swipe, then another, weaving back and forth across the room while Hibari’s tonfas whistle through the air. “Now, that wouldn’t be much fun, would it—ah, shit!”

He trips over the threshold into the room, landing on the _engawa_ with a thump, and is immediately forced to roll out of the way to avoid having his skull split in half by a tonfa. Said tonfa smashes right through the floor with a loud crash, leaving shards of splintered wood in its wake.

While Hibari wrenches the tonfa out of the wreckage, Yamamoto vaults himself back to his feet and scrambles into the garden. Once he judges he's safely out of Hibari’s immediate reach, he relaxes a little, craning his neck theatrically to inspect the damage.

“Hey, now, isn’t that gonna be a problem?” He cocks an eyebrow at Hibari. “That’s your house, you know.”

“There is only one problem here,” says Hibari, icily, “and I am going to deal with it.”

“Am I gonna have to apologize to Kusakabe for you later? I don’t think I oughta be liable for the damages here, _I’m_ not the one who—”

“Be _quiet!_ ”

Lips pulled back into a silent snarl, Hibari flies at him, forcefully and effectively putting an end to conversation. There’s no room for him to speak under the barrage of blows, barely even room to breathe, and Yamamoto finds himself hard-pressed to fend Hibari off with nothing but a single sword. Eyes alight with joy, he zigzags across the perfectly-manicured moss garden, swiveling this way and that as blows rain down on him from all sides. Sparks fly with every clash of metal, and each time he narrowly avoids having a bone broken, Hibari’s fury grows. Yeahhh, okay—so maybe Yamamoto has some fucked-up hobbies. But that’s the secret, y’see—the angrier Hibari gets, the more reckless he is, and that’s what gives Yamamoto his chance.

It takes several minutes of this before he finally sees an opportunity, and it’s a good thing too because by that point he's already starting to flag. Hibari takes another swing at him, so swift and furious that it sets him ever so slightly off balance, and Yamamoto seizes his chance—instead of deflecting the blow with his sword, he catches it on the flat of his arm. There’s a loud _crunch_ and a sudden, sharp pain, so intense that it makes his eyes water, but with his arm having absorbed the shock of the blow he’s able to swing Shigure Kintoki up one-handedly, catching the offending tonfa and sending it flying.

Apparently even Hibari is surprised by this; his attention is momentarily diverted as his eyes follow the arc of the tonfa soaring out of reach to smash through the screen door behind them, and that opening is all Yamamoto needs. He spins around, his other arm dangling uselessly at his side, and slashes forward with Shigure Kintoki.

The blade stops millimeters from Hibari’s throat.

Hibari goes still, then, almost frighteningly so. When their eyes meet across the edge of the blade, Yamamoto can’t decide if the way Hibari looks right now is more terrifying, or arousing.

(Maybe a little of column A, a little of column B?) He lowers his sword, grinning like the winner that he is. His injured arm is throbbing, and he’s starting to feel a little dizzy.

“So,” he says, genially, “how ‘bout we call it a truce, huh?”

Hibari doesn’t reply—and, come to think of it, Yamamoto’s not even sure that such a word exists in his vocabulary. But it doesn’t matter because in the next moment, Hibari has dropped his remaining tonfa and stepped forward, seizing Yamamoto by the tie to drag him down. Yamamoto obliges, leaning down as Hibari tiptoes so he can crush their mouths together with force, and the way he goes at it, it’s like he can’t decide if he’d rather kiss or bite.

“Ouch!” Pain in his arm forgotten for the moment, Yamamoto wheezes as he lets Hibari bear him groundwards. He’s already working on Hibari’s belt, undoing it, even one-handed, with practiced ease. “Easy on the teeth, maybe?”

“Quiet,” Hibari orders.

“Okay, okay...” He chuckles, but shuts up when Hibari fixes him with another death glare, deciding not to press his luck. Meanwhile, their hands have come together, moving over skin, fingers curled round taut flesh; urgent, familiar, giving in to sensation. Hibari doesn't usually make much noise while they're doing this kinda stuff, apart from maybe labored breathing, but the _look_ on his face—hooded eyes and trembling lashes, all scrunched up like it almost hurts but it's just that it feels so unbearably good— _shit_. Yamamoto would gladly take a beating like this every day if it meant he’d get to see it.

"Hey, Hibari..." Yamamoto gulps, just barely resisting the urge to lick away the sweat he can see beading on Hibari’s upper lip. "You know what kind of face you're making right now?"

"Stop. Talking," Hibari breathes. There’s a flash of white teeth, and then the palm of his free hand unceremoniously covers Yamamoto's mouth. Ostensibly, to shut him up, but in reality quite the strategic misstep. Without hesitation Yamamoto sinks his teeth into the soft, meaty part of Hibari’s thumb, and for the first time that day wrings a sound approximating a groan from Hibari’s throat. It doesn’t take much more than that to coax him to slip a finger into Yamamoto’s mouth, and Yamamoto rewards him for the concession, curling his tongue round the digit, cheeks hollowing out as he sucks—and all the while his eyes are locked onto Hibari’s, unblinking, daring him to look away first.

They don’t last much longer—they can’t, not like _this_ ; not when it’s been so long since the last time. When Hibari finally comes, he buries his face in Yamamoto’s shoulder with barely a sound, and it’s just so damn cute that Yamamoto soon follows suit. The movement of their hands, fingers still interlocked over slick flesh, slows, their grips slowly loosening. Like always, Hibari’s the first to let go—but instead of getting up right away, he leans back, studying the sticky mess on his palm, across his fingers, with his own personal brand of detached curiosity.

Yamamoto, still basking in the afterglow, fixes him with a lazy grin. (Thanks to the wonders of serotonin, the throbbing in his arm has for the moment faded to little more than a dull ache.)

"What's up?”

Hibari shoots him a glance, eyes narrowed, almost calculating. And then—after a long beat—he holds out his hand. He says not a word about this; just continues to watch Yamamoto evenly, eyes so dark they’re almost black. And Yamamoto?

Well, he knows what to do.

He reaches up; folds fingers gently around Hibari’s wrist, one by one in sequence. Anticipation is half the fun, but, while Hibari’s expression never changes, Yamamoto can _feel_ his impatience, and decides it’s in his best interests not to make him wait.

He begins at the base of Hibari’s palm—smoothing the flat of his tongue over the bite marks he’d left earlier, laving away the stickiness pooling there. The point of his tongue fits neatly between Hibari’s slender fingers; he turns Hibari’s hand over, making sure to sweep it across the knuckles, too, and then sucks each digit clean, making sure to swallow afterwards for good measure.

Pleased with a job well done, he lets go of Hibari’s wrist, allowing it to fall into their laps between them. Hibari is still watching him in silence, head slightly cocked to one side. (He isn’t smiling, of course, but Yamamoto knows him just well enough to recognize the look of satisfaction on his face.)

Still savoring the bitter taste of Hibari on the back of his tongue, Yamamoto grins again.

“Y’know, things would be a whole lot easier if we just started with this part next time.”

Hibari, who's already starting to do up his belt, scoffs.

“Don’t be stupid, Yamamoto Takeshi.” As Yamamoto watches he finishes tidying himself up, and then stands, brushing a careless hand back through his hair. He turns back towards the house, stepping over the wreckage of the screen door and the discarded tonfas, and adds, almost as an afterthought, “It would be less interesting that way.”

And yeah, you know what, Yamamoto thinks—when you put it like _that_ , he can’t really disagree.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! :D


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